Bass like tombs rumbling under the feast
Candles flicker on plates stained with the beast
We dine while the ruins whisper names in the smoke
And every ghost leans in for the final choke

Outside the banquet halls the echoes still bleed
Old fields hold the print where the victims concede
They served the charge with silver, we swallowed the cost
Each dish garnished with a memory long lost
The bloodline inherited by children unraised
The table set on graves where the mourners phased
We cheer for the harvest of stolen acclaim
Raise our glasses but the foundation’s the same
Massacre memorial in the back of the mind
A feast of sorrow served to humankind
When the laughter rings high, look below the crust
See the tomb-stone markers in the dust
Our ancestors whispered, now we chant their refrain
We dine on the ruin, we bless the domain

We eat on ruins, every plate holds a ghost
Crying prayers where the bullets were host
Massacre memory, the harvest of blame
Each meal a monument carved in flame

The banquet spreads wide, the legacy cold
Bones under linen in stories untold
They carved the borders, they sealed the fate
We carry the ghosts while they celebrate
Eyes in the darkness, voices in the wind
The table keepers blind to what they begin
We march in the shadow of the screams unheard
Hands raised in thanks while the truth is blurred
The scar remains fresh though the print is faint
Blood rubs off slow but the soul still paints
The price was paid not with gold but our lives
We dine at the table built on their cries

We eat on ruins, every plate holds a ghost
Crying prayers where the bullets were host
Massacre memory, the harvest of blame
Each meal a monument carved in flame

Skulls under china, guns under glass
Echoes of footsteps in corridors past
Whispers of mothers whose children never came home
Feasts for the victors, graves for the bone
Ceremonies silent, drums in the night
Every shot memorised, every wrong in the sight
We’re heirs of the massacre, legacy defined
By the blood in our veins and the scars in our minds
No masks on the faces, no lies in the creed
We chant the cry of the fallen, the hearts that still bleed
Hear the bass like a heartbeat under the wall
See the ghost in each corner, hear the memory call
We dine on the ruins, we cradle the pain
Until the table breaks, until we reclaim

We eat on ruins, every plate holds a ghost
Crying prayers where the bullets were host
Massacre memory, the harvest of blame
Each meal a monument carved in flame

Let the bass tremble for the names unsung
Let the table tremble when the truth is done
Massacre memory flows in our veins
We hold their voice, till we break the chains

Massacre Memory

The entire sound is in my hands. I write cyber poetry, produce, and compose every track ready for Immersive 3D. Every beat is crafted for spatial and next-gen headphones.
Intimate lyrics, total immersion, every track.

For 30 years I kept unfinished demos to myself, never letting them out. Now I finish what I start and release it the moment it’s alive.

I use every tool available — human or machine — as an instrument.
Technology doesn’t replace creativity. It expands it.

New tracks tagged #talkbox flickers